Tsuru
by Ariel the Tempest
Summary: A story of dysfunction from the Ishida clan's recent history. Tsuru is bow string in Japanese. Spoilers for Uryuu's backstory from approximately manga chapter 125 and anime episode 44. Rated for one use of a major swear word.


Spoilers for Ishida family history. One major swear word, in the context of a very nasty suggestion.

My thanks to my faithful beta-reader MariphasaHecatene, who has put up with my obsessive ficcing in two different fandoms, read all of my work (and I do mean ALL) and who gave me the idea for the title.

In Japanese, "tsuru" means "bowstring".

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The western sky was turning colors, the streetlamps of Karakura-town were flickering to life, and Ishida Ryuuken still had yet to find his son.

Ever since the old man's…_accident_…Uryuu had been hypersensitive and erratic: hearing Hollows blocks away, reacting more and more violently even in public. An hour ago the two of them had been riding the bus home from a trip to the park. (Intended to draw the boy out of his funk and encourage normal social interaction, it had done no such thing; he had spent the entire time at the very top of the jungle gym glaring balefully at the other children.) The bus had paused at a stop unusually long as an elderly woman in a wheelchair boarded, and as it idled a distant, but clearly anguished, scream came over the noise of traffic and chattering conversation, followed by an earthshaking roar. None of the other passengers seemed even vaguely aware of the noise, but both Ishidas recognized it immediately as the sound of a ghost about to fall to a Hollow.

Before his father could even grab his shoulder, as a reminder of the iron-clad prohibition against acknowledging events in the spirit realm, Uryuu was out of his seat, through the legs of the startled adults trying to get on, and running toward the source of the noise. By the time Ryuuken reacted, the doors had closed and no amount of screaming at the driver would open them. He had to wait until the next stop and double back to search the maze of narrow alleyways into which his son had disappeared.

And now with the light fading and his panic rising (There were half a million horrible things that could happen to a young, pretty, mentally unbalanced boy alone in this part of the city…) he finally gave in. Closed his eyes, opened the mental gates he hated so much, and sought out that familiar reiatsu. He had looked for an hour in vain. Tracking the spirit energy took ten minutes.

Ryuuken closed in on the end of the thread, rounding a corner to find a postage stamp-sized park and Uryuu lying asleep on a bench…underneath a green haori.

Shitshitshitshitshit.

Sitting next to his son, rubbing the boy's back in a freakishly paternal way, was Urahara Kisuke in all his spooky glory. He looked up just as Ryuuken stopped to gawp in horror.

"Quincy-san! What a charming coincidence! I was just now wondering how to get Uryuu-chan back to the family fold, but my problem solved itself."

The elder Ishida unstuck his dangling jaw and hissed, "What did you do to him, you soul-slaying lunatic?"

A melodramatic display of hurt pride followed. "Maaaaaa, Quincy-san—such a suspicious nature. I didn't do a thing to Uryuu, except kill the Hollow he was hunting. Little bit upset about that he was, but when I told him his grandfather would have been proud of his tracking skill he brightened right up. We had a nice little chat about how bows are better than swords, and then he fell asleep."

"Do you think I can't see the binding on him? _What did you do?_"

Urahara took a puff on his pipe and looked Ryuuken straight in the eye. His tone was no longer high-flown and obsequious, but something older, and colder, and darker. "He was worn out and skittish as a fawn, Ishida. I used a harmless minor kidoh to help him rest. Nothing more." He shifted down the bench away from Uryuu. "Come see for yourself if you don't believe me."

In half a heartbeat Ryuuken was sitting there on the bench with his son in his arms, not even bothering to be discreet about checking him for signs of injury or enchantment, but saw nothing more than deep, peaceful sleep. It appeared that Urahara had been as good as his word—for once. He debated whether to just up and run or wait for Mr. Creepy to leave first.

His hopes were raised when Urahara stood and slipped on his haori (tossed in his face a few moments before), then dashed when he said, "Why try to withhold his heritage from him? Take the bow out of a Quincy's hands, and it's still in his blood."

Ryuuken tightened his grip on the skinny shoulders. "There's no future left for the Quincy. What would life as a warrior ever bring him? Not security, not love, not even peace of mind—even Father would admit that. No matter how many Hollows you kill, more always come. No matter how many lives you save, someone always dies. I won't watch Uryuu live his life alone, running himself to pieces trying to do the impossible."

Urahara gave him another critical look. "Whatever you may want for him is irrelevant as long as he can't see beyond his grief. And he knows no way to honor his grandfather besides taking up his bow."

"Do you know how many times I've told him that there wasn't anything he could do? That Sensei wouldn't want him to be unhappy? Nothing gets through. It's like we're speaking different languages."

"Then perhaps it's time to try a different tactic—before Uryuu does something else self-destructive and no one's around to stop him. In fact, I'll give you a little gift to help out." He exhaled a thin stream of smoke, which flew straight over to the bench, formed itself into a kidoh symbol, and settled around the boy's neck (he sneezed a bit, but didn't stir). "He'll sleep straight through till morning, and remember nothing of this little adventure when he wakes. That will buy you a little time, Ishida. I suggest you use it well."

Perhaps it had something with latent Quincy dignity and not enjoying condescension from Shinigami, or perhaps it had more to do with covering up the paralyzing fear that the thought of repeating the evening's events dropped on him, but Ryuuken was suddenly not in the mood to be taking parenting advice from a scheming Soul Society reject. "Oh, go fuck a cat," he muttered, gathering up his son and making a run for the street.

Urahara's laughter followed him through the dark alleys. "I'll tell Yoruichi you said hello, then. Abayo, Quincy-san."

It was not until halfway through the bus ride home that Ryuuken felt safe enough to admit that Urahara had a point—although as usual it was surrounded by nonsense. Uryuu had disobeyed him many times before, but never with this total disregard for consequences. Something deep and fundamental had broken, something like the natural order of parent and child, protector and protected--and the pain it was causing the boy was only too clear. He was simply at a loss for what to do; his doctor instincts had long since advised calling in a third party, someone not already twisted into emotional knots—preferably a professional. Stubborn pride had intervened…as had the knowledge that any mention of talking to ghosts and fighting soul reapers in the hearing of a psychiatrist would send up red flags the size of bed sheets. And that was still true, no matter how much of a relief it would be to have someone sharing the burden.

So he thought to himself, but as they rumbled past a streetlamp that flooded the interior of the bus with amber light Ryuuken looked down at his son and saw that the boy was smiling in his dreams. It was only a little smile, just a bare upturn of the lips…but it had been months since Uryuu's expression had been anything except stony resolution. It was like seeing a crocus coming through the snow after a hard winter: the memory pales immeasurably when compared to the real thing.

And all the debating and hand-wringing was over in a moment, because Ryuuken realized he would do anything to see that smile again.

He buried his face in silky-smooth black hair, breathing deeply to cement his resolution. The head of the psychiatry division at the hospital owed him more than a few favors. Call them all in at once, and he could keep this quiet and off the books, get someone who wouldn't go jumping to conclusions…

It could work. It would work. He would _make _it work.

It was him and his son, together against the world.

In his arms Uryuu slept on, dreaming of the shadow-eyed man who'd promised him vengeance.


End file.
